


Vengeance, Mark Thee

by joufancyhuh



Series: Fereldan Royalty [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Non-Warden, Post-Cousland Origin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 04:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15283686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joufancyhuh/pseuds/joufancyhuh
Summary: Cousland travels toward the Wilds with the memory of her family as a weight on her back.





	Vengeance, Mark Thee

**Author's Note:**

> [GuileandGall](http://archiveofourown.org/users/guileandgall), thanks for betaing. 
> 
> I tried to go Shakespearian with this.

_ Vengeance, mark thee.  _

Idrina screams, a murder of crows scattering at the sound of her palpable grief. Her adrenaline throbs in her ears, shutting out the noise of the mountains at daybreak. Howe and his men haunt her in the shadows of a dawn which bleeds across the sky, crimson like the blood on her tongue and armor. Fenn, her faithful wardog, howls at her side, sharing in the determination to continue. 

_ Vengeance, mark thee. _

“With this sword,” she mutters the mantra that carries her forward, up the side of this mountain on her journey toward the Wilds. Her stained hands, crusted with ichor and soot, dig into the bark of nearby trees, using their position to pull herself up the mountainside while her tired knees tremble. The Cousland family sword shifts inside its sheath, knocking into her hip with such a frequency that a chafing blister formed beneath her armor. “This sword will claim Rendon Howe’s last breath.” 

_ Vengeance, mark thee. _

“My name is Idrina Alexandra Cousland.” She grunts, the heels of her boots digging into the dirt as exhaustion threatens to hold her back. The muscles in her calves burn, begging for a pause in her quest to find her brother. “For my father, I wield this sword.” Scabs created from her ill-worn armor weep, the buckles never properly adjusted from her hasty donning earlier that night.

It felt like a lifetime ago that the tolling of the warning bell woke her, Fenn’s frantic barking its accompaniment. Blood dripping off the end of her sword; she never took a life before. How she stared at it, the way it stained the carpet in the hall, her thought of how hard the servants would need to work to clean it. Matted crimson on Fenn’s muzzle, the terror watching him tear into Howe’s men. Scared to touch him, her lifelong friend. 

_ Vengeance, mark thee.  _

“For my mother, I wield this shield.” Fire burns in her lungs, carried with her from the ruins of her family estate. Her life of idleness left her unprepared for this venture, the strain on her body intensifying as she remains upright. Every step leaves her breathless, wobbling while she uses her surroundings to hold her steady. 

_ Vengeance, mark thee. _

“For my nephew and his mother, I continue forward.”  __ On the other side of these mountains, her brother awaits her arrival, surprising as it may be. But she wants to kill Howe herself, sink the blade she carries into his heart, see the shock in his eyes when he realizes she lives. Blood for blood, and she strives to see that bastard pay for the death he reaped on her family. She mustn’t quit, no matter how much she tires, not until the Couslands find justice.

With a guttural scream, one last push as she breeches the summit, the sound of her determination echoes throughout the valleys below. The rising sun greets her challenge. 


End file.
